


A Day in the Life

by SquishySterek (Herm_own_ninny)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Lives, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Minor platonic Stackson moment, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 02:22:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13848072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herm_own_ninny/pseuds/SquishySterek
Summary: Tracing a day in the life of Stiles Stilinski*** possibly incomplete ***





	A Day in the Life

**Author's Note:**

> So, being honest, this piece is kind of to help me cope with my own life. It helps me to 'project' my life on fictional characters. A friend read the first draft of this and said I should post it, so here it is.  
> I don't know if it will end where it does, if I'll finish this day, or start a piece off of it. We'll see. This may be my outlet area for my own issues and it may grow and evolve as I do.  
> It won't be updated regularly and may get pretty dark at times. I don't know. I'm using real names for some people and may introduce some OC's or shape the cast into people in my life and what happens.  
> Sorry. This is all I've got for the time being. Hope you enjoy.  
> -J.M.O.

Stiles knows it's ridiculous, knows his depression is acting up and making him feel shit he knows is stupid, but he can't help it. Pulling up in the Jeep, watching Scott look directly at him and walk in with Kira instead of him, disregarding their normal routine - he felt like shit. No other word to it.  
It didn't help that no one else would be at school today, either. Erica and Boyd were out for their anniversary, Isaac was touring a college, and the little underlings were off probably getting in trouble. Lydia was probably already in class; her car was in its spot but she was nowhere to be seen. Allison was most likely with her.  
He didn't hold it against anyone, he just has shit anxiety and doesn't like walking into school alone. Mainly because people still stared at him after he'd had the incident with the Nogitsune that was written off as him going to a mental institute for various issues unbeknownst to the rest of his student body. He definitely wasn't going to tell people he'd been possessed by an ancient demonic spirit that caused him to vomit a new body from his old and crawl from a pile of rags in the middle of the floor, that it had tortured him with nightmares and hallucinations and his worst fears. He'd rather they think he's a lower level of fucked up than he really is.  
It's easier to handle the looks and the whispers he knows people don't think he hears or sees, but many of his peers don't know what hypervigilance does to a person. That Stiles sees every twitch of every student in his class, every sigh and click of a pen grating on his resolve, any movement in the hallway an instant spike to his anxiety. He couldn't take his usual favorite spot any more because he couldn't see the entire room, he couldn't even speak properly because every movement dragged his attention from the words trying to form in his mouth.  
But he was trying to shove those things from his mind as he put his earbuds in and started the walk in. He forced his eyes to stay forward as he attempted what he called a 'murder strut’- eyes straight forward, expression neutral or murderous, and gait even and confident. He was going to baffle them with his bullshit. Screw Scott and his damn infatuation with whatever girl he was boning at the moment. Screw the shitty little underclassmen that forced their way into the pack. Let Erica and Boyd enjoy their anniversary, Isaac his tour, and Lydia and Allison their commitment to education. He can function. Even wi-  
“Stiles!” Jackson snapped, pulling an earbud from his ear and setting a hand on his shoulder, pulling him to a stop.  
The shorter teen gave him a slightly annoyed look, pretty put off that he hadn't even made it to the door before his murder strut had been interrupted. “What?”  
“I was gonna ask if you'd wanna go to lunch today.”  
“I'm good. I'm not gonna be the butt end of some fucking joke, again,” He muttered, moving to put his earbud back in.  
“No, hey,” Jackson frowned, grabbing his wrist. He let go instantly when the teen’s eyes flared with a mixture of annoyance and fear. “It’s my birthday and I want to spend it with pack.”  
“So you need me to gather everyone for you? You could've just texted me.”  
“No, dumbass. I want you there. You might be trying on my patience, but you're still part of my life and make it enjoyable.”  
Stiles gave Jackson a calculating look, shifting more out of the walkway to the door and then dropping his gaze. “I don't have you a gift.”  
“Stiles, I don't need a gift. I don't want anyone spending money on me. I just want a birthday lunch with pack,” Jackson said, his voice softer now as he moved along with Stiles out of the way of the herd of students, “and you're pack. Really one of the very few I actually appreciate being linked with. I know I'm a dick, but it's because you frustrate me with your easy going personality and I can't really process those emotions.”  
“Listen, you don't have to butter me up to go. I'll be there. Just… no pranks. Please? I'm okay with being the butt of the joke, like usual, just…” Stiles shook his head and checked the time, putting his earbud back in. “I've gotta get to class.” And Stiles did.  
By himself. Eyes downcast and music blaring in his headphones, shoulders stiff and pulled in on himself as he sat at his desk in the corner. Jackson was either serious or going to make him look like a fucking idiot at lunch, but that was hours away. There were plenty of other things to focus on. Like the kid in front of Stiles laughing and glancing at him. He dropped his eyes back to his desk before pulling his phone out and opening up Instagram. He sat scrolling and scrolling, more going through the motions than actually paying attention. He was brought back to reality when Mr. Arnold rapped his knuckles on his desk. Stiles mumbled a quiet apology and turned off the music, handed him the homework, and pulled out his notebook.  
“If you hadn't been so busy blocking out the world around you, Stilinski, you'd know we were working on our laptops today. Pull yours out,” Mr. Arnold muttered. A few of the students chuckled as Stiles did what he was supposed to, the tips of his ears turned pink. The work was mindless and he finished in five minutes.  
He had his usual verbal lashing from the AP Government teacher about wasting time, then showed him the finished document and explained the Anatomy work he was doing. Told him he'd already done his notes for next week, otherwise he'd be doing them at the moment. His earbuds were in and he was packed by the end of the period, first out of the room. He stuck to the walls as he made his way towards his AP Lit class, ducking away from his teacher when he tried to start a conversation. He knew Mr. Mimms missed their conversations, but Stiles didn't like getting called out in class, letting the people around him know his thoughts since everyone talked about him so much. He needed his privacy, didn't need people snickering about the words he jumbled or combined because he got distracted by a girl spinning her phone on her desk. He needed some quiet, didn't want people trying to ask him what he knew about the Supreme Court’s recent decision or that new musical that was out.  
He liked having his opinions and having them to himself. He didn't enjoy being talked about, or that his words often got skewed and changed around, even in miniscule ways that changed what he originally intended the words to mean.  
He did take a very small amount of pride in the fact that his classmates still knew English was his top subject. His small group members also knew he had the humility to accept when he was wrong and take their answers if they were standing solid by them. He explained things in ways his classmates understood, and everyone understood him in there because of how Mimms treated him, and every student for that matter. English was one of Stiles’ safe places, a class in the day he looks forward to. Here, his classmates let him stutter without issue, wait for him to get his thoughts out before running off on a tangent. And he returns the favor, is grateful for it. This small group of 15 in this class are a small group of people that aren’t his close friends that don’t make fun of him or talk about him negatively - at least in a way he sees or knows of. English hasn’t been bad for a while, in many different ways. English was his saving grace.


End file.
